


Let it Fly on the Wind

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, Drama, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-04-27
Updated: 2005-04-27
Packaged: 2018-11-20 21:11:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11343249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived atThe Basement, which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address onThe Basement's collection profile.





	Let it Fly on the Wind

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

Let it Fly on the Wind

### Let it Fly on the Wind

#### by Flutesong

  


Title: Let it Fly on the Wind 

Author: Flutesong 

E-mail: 

Website: http://www.hegalplace.com/flutesong/ 

Keywords: M/K and MSR implied 

Spoilers: The whole damn thing that was the X Files 

Rating: PG13/language 

Summary: Dammit, it's all over 

Warning: uh, what? Tiny and quick Fowley moment... 

Written for the Lying Lyric Wheel http://www.voy.com/24973/ 

Archive: Sure, let me know where 

And Oooh! cool lyrics from Dryad 

April 2005 

Let it Fly on the Wind 

The first time I heard of you was during a climatic moment. Not my climax, Diana Fowley's climax. And it was about time too, not to hear another man's name, of course, but for her to give it up. I'd been working hard down low for over 20 minutes. I knew it was more than 20 minutes because when I heard her gasp Fox, Fox, Fox! I looked up and saw the clock on the bedside table. It was blinking 1:30 on the dot, in red. 

I was 19 and very sure of myself. I had no basis in fact or experience to be so self-assured, but hey, 19 is 19. And at 19 I thought I would live forever. I was getting some from a hot older woman and being seduced by her bosses to hang out in clubs and keep my eyes open. The green was piled high in my wallet and I never had to pay for a drink or for sex. They'd already shown me a cool blonde should I get tired of the brunet. I was in testosterone heaven and ready to play as long as the cash, women and drinks kept coming and in that order. 

I don't know why I didn't pull out and demand to know who the fuck Fox! Fox! Fox! was, maybe I didn't care, maybe some small kernel of innate caution or talent for blackmail caught my tongue and I thought that the name was a key or something. Whatever, I let her have her pleasure, took my own, and went to sleep. In the morning, she was gone and I went on to the blonde a week later. I paid the price for her willingly; it was only busting some chump's knee with a tire-iron and calling a number afterwards. Easy as pie, and I like pie. I like it a lot and when the price went up to a shiv in the gut of some fat guy, I paid that too and added whipped cream. 

I might have been nave and I might have been weak and easy to seduce, but I wasn't stupid. I made notes, taped conversations and phone calls, and took pictures when I did jobs on my own. I stored them behind a loose brick at the back of and behind the weeds of the old gym under the G at GMU. I figured no one was going to rebuild it, since they built the Patriot Center, no one came there except for kids smoking cheap dope, and I was right. It is still there, my souvenirs of nowhere and everywhere and my papers and pictures stayed safe and dry. They're yours now, if you want them. 

By the time I met you in person, I was in a whole other world of payoffs, but damn, Mulder, if I wasn't still nave. So damn nave that I can hardly believe it was me offering my hand and following you like a puppy. If I knew then what I know now, I would've busted you in the chops at that damn clinic, folded my tent, cashed in my chips, and sailed for Tahiti. 

* * *

I know you're reading this and thinking it is a confession or an apology. Fuck that shit. This is simply an accounting and I was always good with numbers. I was so good, that when I met Roher and his team of gang-bangers, I knew my damn number was up. Can't fuck with those guys, and I use the term guys in loosely because whatever they are they are not `guys' and certainly not human. At least not human anymore. You can fool them for a while, but like Aaaarnold, they'll be back as many times as it takes, you can count on that. 

So, Mulder, old buddy, favorite Fibbie, and all around pain in the ass, if you're reading this I am dead. Bet you're relieved, you never quite had the hate needed to kill me despite all that went down. I've gotta hand it to you though, you hold a good grudge. You hold it close and keep it warm, just like you used to with me, well fuck that too, this isn't a trip down Memory Lane. 

But, Mulder old pal, make sure I'm dead, make sure someone cremates me and pulverizes the ashes or you just might see me again and I won't have a jones for you no more. Give the job to Skinner; that way he'll have the last laugh after all, watching me go up in flames. I know that I won't shoot you, oh, I'll give it the old college try. I'll wave my gun around and blather like an idiot because I know Roher and his pals haven't got good communication skills so they won't suspect I'm taking my time. But, hell, if you're reading this then I bought you enough time to get the job done and that's what I was after. 

If you're smart, you'll get Scully and the mutant heir and high-tail it far, far away. You've had you heroic day in the sun, buddy boy, and you better get the hell outta Dodge. 

I'll tell you a final secret Mulder, find the undead Smoker, kill the SOB and get squatter's rights to his place. It's a safe place, as far as I know, the only safe place left. 

* * *

Mulder folded the letter, took a deep breath and stared at the sunrise over the lake in La Madre, Mexico. Scully would be up soon and they would move on and then on again. He knew the letter was one truth in a sea of lies, but it was too little, too late. 

He held the paper to his nose, as if just once more he could smell a life he thought had started out sweet and soured too soon, and hear saxophones on a dark dance floor, and then he slowly ripped it to confetti-sized shreds, opened his hand and let it fly on the wind. 

End 

Morphine - Souvenir - The Night 

Souvenir 

I remember meeting you, we were super low. Surrounded by the sounds of saxophones. And I remember being this close, but never alone. You gave me a little something to take home. 

I dropped it on the floor.  
I dropped it on the floor.  
Dropped it on the floor.  
I dropped it 

If I can only remember the name that's enough for me because names hold the key.  
Names hold key.  
If I can only remember the name that's enough for me because names hold the key.  
Names hold key.  
Souvenir of nothing. 

Brought home a souvenir of nothing. It fits into a pocket. A souvenir  
a souvenir of nowhere. Somewhere I've never been before. 

I dropped it on the floor.  
I dropped it on the floor.  
Dropped it on the floor.  
I dropped it 

If I can only remember the name that's enough for me because names hold the key.  
Names hold key.  
If I can only remember the name that's enough for me because names hold the key.  
Names hold key.  
A souvenir of nothing. A souvenir of nothing. 

I remember meeting you, we were super low. Surrounded by the sounds of saxophones.   
  

If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to Flutesong


End file.
